


Avengers Cluedo

by Builder



Series: Canon ships and all that jazz [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Domestic Fluff, F.R.I.D.A.Y knows best, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Helpful Steve Rogers, M/M, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Steve Rogers, Thor (Marvel) is a walking tornado, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: A multi-chapter smattering of gen/humor/fluff drabbles featuring our favorite characters taking on the rooms and weapons offered in our favorite board game.CH 1. Tony Stark in the kitchen with the ropeCH 2. Steve and Bucky in the dining room with the candlestickCH 3. Clint Barton in the billiards room with the lead pipeCH 4. Thor in the library with the revolverCH 5. Natasha in the conservatory with the wrenchCH 6. Bruce in the study with the knife





	1. Tony Stark in the kitchen with the rope

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @builder051

“Tony,” Pepper yawns.  “What are you doing?  It’s four in the morning?”

“Huh?”  Tony drops his flashlight and spins around.  “What?”

“That’s what I just asked you.”  Pepper raises her eyebrows.  “I had no idea we needed new kitchen cabinets that badly.”

“This?”  Tony gestures vaguely at the large square hole in the wall as he bends to retrieve the light.  “Oh, it’s nothing.  I, just, a, uh, fuse blew, and I had to replace it at the, um, source.  You know.  Not the cable box.”

“I see.”  Pepper looks pointedly at the cable box.  “FRIDAY, lights please.”

“Yes ma’am,” the AI obliges.  

The kitchen is bathed in a soft yellow glow.  Tony avoids Pepper’s eye and looks rather sheepishly at the floor.

“Is that…a pulley system?”  Pepper takes a step closer, taking in the scrap of straw-colored rope clutched in Tony’s hand.  

“I know what it looks like,” Tony says, making a calming gesture.  “Actually, scratch that.  I have no idea what it looks like.  But trust me, I was all ready to make her a shiny new secret passage way, but our daughter is just like you.  She wanted something  _authentic_.  So excuse me while I construct a dumbwaiter straight out of 1850.”  He rolls his eyes, but can’t hide his smile.

“Wow.”  Pepper laughs.  “Never thought I’d see you do an engineering project out of the lab.”

“Well, things change after kids.”  Tony surveys his work and reaches for another piece of rope.  

“She’s going to love it.”  Pepper beams.  “Morgan’s lucky to have you, Tony.  We both are.”

 

 


	2. Steve and Bucky in the dining room with the candlestick

“What were you trying to do again?” Steve asks, scratching his head, as he surveys the massive hole in the wall.

“It’s this new arm,” Bucky says, a hint above a whine.  “The vibranium holds potential energy differently than the old one did.  So sometimes things just…go flying.”

“Ok, I got that,” Steve assures him.  “The force was unintentional, but what were you trying to do?  I mean, what did the candlestick do to offend you?”  He grins, but quickly falters when he sees the worry cross Bucky’s face.

“What is it, Buck?”

“It doesn’t matter.”  Bucky backs into the wall.  “Tell T’Challa I’ll pay to replace it.  Or, I’ll fill the hole and patch it myself.”

“Sure,” Steve says.  “But, come on.  You can talk to me about it.”

“Don’t laugh,” Bucky sighs, “It had a… a scary shadow, ok?  Something in my brain went wrong and flipped a switch and the next thing I know, I’m sending the thing smashing through drywall.”

“Buck,” Steve smiles sympathetically.  “I’d never judge you for that.  You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Want to work out your frustration with spackle and paint instead?” Steve offers, leading the way out of the lavishly decorated dining room.  “I’ll race you out to the storage shed.”

“You’re on,” Bucky says with a reluctant smile and a nod.


	3. Clint Barton in the billiards room with the lead pipe

“Ok, how drunk are you?”  Tony stands in the doorway to the game room with his hands on his hips.  “Because even you aren’t normally that stupid.”

“Huh?”  Clint looks up.  It’s enough to break his concentration, and the end of the lead pipe in his hand falls onto the green felt of the pool table with a muffled thump.  “What’da’ya want?”  He blinks hard and tries to convince his eyes to focus.  

“Yeah, you’re damn well toasted.”  Tony steps into the room and holds out a hand.  “Give me that.”  He nods to the pipe.

“No,” Clint protests.  “It’s mine.  And I need it.”

“Pretty sure you don’t, actually,” Tony says.  “And what do you mean, it’s yours?  You bring it with you?”

“Yeah.”  Clint puffs out his chest.  “Well, found it in a vacant lot on my way over, but I thought it would be useful.  For sparring in the gym, I mean.  But this is better.”  He leans over the edge of the table and lines up behind the cue ball, one eye screwed shut.  He pulls back slightly, nearly knocking himself in the forehead with the roughly threaded end.

“Give it.”  Tony wraps his fist around the pole before it can make contact with anything else.  “You’re going to concuss yourself, and I really don’t feel like making a midnight trip to the hospital.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Clint reluctantly agrees.  “I prefer self-medicating.”

“I see.  And whiskey and billiards is the cure for what, now?”

Clint shakes his head and looks like he regrets it.  “Freaking Laura.  I missed the school spaghetti dinner.  ‘M in the doghouse.”

“Ah.  This is why I’m glad mine is only four.”  Tony offers a sympathetic smile, then takes advantage of Clint’s distraction and yanks the pipe out of his grip.  

“Hey!”

“Chill out, will you?”  Tony leans the rod against the wall and crosses the room to the closet.  “I’m not saying you can’t play.  Just saying you should use proper equipment.”  He rummages for a moment and comes out with cues and chalk.  “And I think you need an opponent to play properly.”


	4. Thor in the library with the revolver

“What was that?”  Steve skids to a stop in the doorway and swings himself into the room.  “Who got shot?”

“What? Nobody!” Thor booms, dropping the revolver on the floor where it promptly discharges again.  “Ah!”

“Jesus.”  Steve jumps and squeezes his eyes shut for a second.  “What are you doing?  Is that the new equipment order?”  He steps into the room.

“Yes, I believe Mr. Fury just brought it for us.”  Thor bends to retrieve the gun and tosses it in the air a few times, which makes Steve flinch.

“Ok.”  He lets out a sharp sigh.  “What are you doing?  Why isn’t anyone in here with you?”

“I’m testing out the new toys.”  Thor looks at him with confusion.  “It’s equipment for me, is it not?”

“Well, yes,” Steve concedes.  “But that’s some serious lack of firearms safety.  If you want to avoid a lecture from Agent Hill, you better be sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You have little faith, my captain.” Thor beams, taking his eyes off the gun again.

“Just…watch what you’re doing.”  Steve shakes his head.  “Ok?”

“Of course.”  Thor nods, then seems distracted by a book on the shelf beside him.  “Is that the Saga of Snorri Sturluson?”

“Who?”  Steve lifts one eyebrow.

“Let me give you a piece of advice.”  Thor scratches his head with the barrel of the gun.  “Watch who you criticize, my friend.  For some of us are a thousand years old, as opposed to your hundred.”

Steve sniffs. “I’ll, uh, keep it in mind.”  

“Good.”  Thor beams.  “That’s all.  I’ll see you later.” He gestures toward the door.

“Now, wait just one second–”

“Thank you, Captain Rogers.”

“I–fine.  I’ll see you at dinner.”

“That you shall.  Will we be having the strawberry milkshake pop tarts, or the nutter butter delicacies for our evening repast?”

“I said dinner, Thor.”  Steve shakes his head.  “No pop tarts.”

Thor’s face falls.  “No pop tarts?”  He tosses the gun again and points it at Steve’s chest.

“Nope.  Meatloaf, I think.  Peter’s aunt gave Pepper a recipe.”

“All the better, then.”  Thor smiles again.  “We good?”

“Sure.”  Steve steps back, eager to avoid the argument.  “Good.”


	5. Natasha in the conservatory with the wrench

“Ok,” Tony says, stepping through the door to the rooftop greenhouse.  “I just put Barton to bed.  What are you doing?”

“Huh?”  Nat looks up, wiping sweat from her forehead with her wrist and straightening up over the row of plants she’s been tending.  “It’s called gardening.  I thought as a man with a fucking greenhouse you’d know that.”

“Whoah, no need go get hostile.”  Tony lifts his hands in a don’t shoot gesture, but he doesn’t need to.  The wrench in Nat’s hand stays where it is.  “What’s that?  We have proper gardening tools, you know.”  

“I know,” Nat snaps.  “I just like using this.”

“Whatever.”  Tony shakes his head.  “You gonna tell me what’s up, or do I have to go back downstairs and ask Barton?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”  Nat draws her arm back and takes aim, but lowers it when Tony flinches.

“Jesus.  You really know how to scare a guy.”

“Good.  It’s my job.”

“Well, you’re very good at it,” Tony says, a little reluctantly.  “You feel like going to bed?  It’s–” he checks his watch.  “Four in the morning.”

“Not with you,” Nat says, kneeling again and going back to pulling weeds from around the narrow base of a ficus.  

“Like I said.  Tone down the scary.”  Tony takes a step toward her and sits on the dusty floor on the other side of the potted plant.  “Slap me upside the head if you want to, but don’t make implications when there’s nothing there.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Nat sniffs.  “Nothing’s bothering me.  Well, Barton was bothering me, but like you said.  He’s in bed.”

“Good thing, too.  He was ruining my pool table.”

Nat almost laughs.  “What a travesty.”

“What?  It is a travesty.”

“You’re good, Stark,” Nat says.  She straightens up and tosses her hair before tucking several errant strands behind her ear.  “You’re good.”

“Glad I make the grade somewhere,” Tony huffs.  “You wanna talk, or–?”

“Nope.”  Nat tosses the wrench onto a table near one of the glass walls.  Tony flinches when it lands with a bang, but she doesn’t.  “You’re outta luck.”


	6. Bruce in the study with the knife

“Ouch!  Goddammit!”  Bruce drops the knife and the pencil into the trash bin, where they land with a clatter on top of a pile of wood and graphite shavings.  He quickly sticks his thumb in his mouth, tasting the blood flowing through the cut just above his fingernail.

“What seems to be the problem, Dr. Banner?” FRIDAY’s electronic voice asks from everywhere and nowhere.

“Nothing,” Bruce says quickly, removing his thumb and wrapping it tightly in his shirttail.  He knows the AI is programmed to evaluate for injury, but he’s hoping to keep such an incident to himself.  Hopefully if he can avoid bleeding on any of the furniture, he’ll be able to keep a HAZMAT team from swooping in to confiscate his desk.  “Noting.  I’m fine.”

“Your blood pressure indicates deception,” FRIDAY says plainly.  “As does the stain on your shirt.”

“Yeah, well…”  Bruce looks down at the very small, very red bloodstain seeping through the plaid fabric.

“Shall I order a replacement?”

“A what?”

“Another shirt?” the AI offers.

“Oh.”  Bruce’s heartbeat doesn’t slow.  “Um.  Alright.”

“The replacement garment should arrive within the hour.  Would you like a biohazard bin in the meantime?”

“Yes, sure.”  Bruce unbuttons his shirt and wraps it completely around his hand.  “I– just don’t torch my papers, ok?  I did everything right; I kept the spill contained and didn’t get any blood on anything.  Nobody’s gonna die.”

“Why would you think someone is in danger of perishing?  I don’t calculate your wound to be life-threatening,” FRIDAY says.  

“I was just worried about, you know, the cleaning crew…”  Bruce trails off with an embarrassed laugh.

“Master Stark has the bots trained to clean this part of the building.  There is no concern for sharing the chemicals in your blood with any other humans.  Unless you and Miss Romanov–”

“No, no, no.”  Bruce cringes.  “Stop.  And we don’t, ok?”

“I wouldn’t claim to know,” The AI says.  

“Well, good,” says Bruce.  “Now.  Bandages?  Where are those?”

“In the drawer to your left,” FRIDAY tells him.  “Along with an invention that may strike your fancy.  It’s known as an electric pencil sharpener.”


End file.
